


edge of a precipice

by Arya_Silvertongue



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Pining John Sheppard, Post-Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arya_Silvertongue/pseuds/Arya_Silvertongue
Summary: There’s a reason why John never crosses the line.
Relationships: Rodney McKay/John Sheppard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 78





	edge of a precipice

“Now _that_ is what I’m talking about.”

John tears his eyes away from San Francisco’s night lights to turn to Rodney, who is tipping his second bottle of Molson with obvious relish, his Adam’s apple bobbing with every gulp. He lets his eyes linger for a beat longer before he looks away, his own throat thick as he swallows.

“Are you even gonna drink that?” John hears Rodney ask.

He doesn’t need to see the other man to know the shape of the scowl he is no doubt wearing. John’s own bottle is uncapped but still full, held by the neck in a grip that, up until a moment ago, was relatively loose.

John forces his fingers to relax. “Just taking my time, buddy.”

The air in the balcony shifts, and a second later, Rodney joins him by the railing. It’s a cool night, but the proximity sends something sharp and hot to flare down John’s spine.

“Taking your time?” Rodney repeats, not bothering to hide the incredulity in his voice. “Not to burst your little antisocial bubble here, Sheppard, but it’s ten minutes past midnight. The party’s not gonna wait for you. In fact, the party called it a night and hailed a cab two hours ago. We were both there. Teyla gave me a broom. I didn’t even know we _had_ a broom.”

The party. Right.

“We’re going home,” John hears himself say, voice just above a whisper.

After half a year of being grounded — seven months pretending to rub shoulders with paper pushers who would piss themselves at the first sign of a Wraith dart, attempting to show Teyla the beauty of a planet he’d leave in a heartbeat, and subsisting on clandestine trips to seedy establishments where people have no clue who he is and just how much he’s responsible for — Atlantis is finally given the green light to return to Pegasus. _Tomorrow._

The news, of course, is celebrated with a huge party, complete with a five-foot chocolate cake procured by the science department, balloons that looked like Ancient drones, and half of California’s liquor supply.

Beside him, Rodney snorts loud enough to shake John back to the present. When he opens his mouth to say something else, maybe to remind the guy that John isn’t exactly the only person who was too restless to properly enjoy the festivities, as evidenced by their late, post-celebration beer indulgence, he finds Rodney already beaming at him.

“We really are,” he tells John, sounding just as dazed.

There’s something about the flushed cheeks and bright, blue eyes, that makes John’s breath hitch. Suddenly, his pulse is too fast and too loud against his ears, and if his hand gives up and starts to twitch, he knows the Molson will slip right out of his grasp.

Something must’ve shown in his face, because Rodney freezes, and suddenly he’s leaning towards John, a concerned frown replacing the brilliant smile.

“Sheppard?”

It takes all of John’s strength to hold himself still. When Rodney shows no sign of letting whatever it is he thinks he’s seen go, John turns away, throwing back half a bottle’s worth in one go.

“ _Whoa_. Slow down!”

John’s chest feels hollow as he laughs, almost choking on beer and spit, the sound coming out more hysterical than he would have liked.

Because it’s funny. It’s hilarious. And John wants nothing more than to tell Rodney just that.

For the last five years, all he’s ever done is slow down, step back. The galaxy, the city, and Meredith Rodney McKay zip past him in Mach 2, sending his head spinning and his chest hammering, and John has always held himself so tight, always on a leash. One wrong move, and he will find himself moving above and beyond everything he’s ever told himself is more important.

As he swallows, the liquid burns against the back of his throat.

“So,” John starts, leaning his hip against the railing to give Rodney a cheeky smile. He finishes the rest of the Molson before he continues. “You happy?”

Rodney’s eyes, no longer bright but still so very blue, dart between John’s face and the now-empty bottle. John can see the struggle in them like a 40-inch HUD, before half a decade of friendship gives Rodney enough wisdom not to push whatever questions he wants to ask. There’s a still a frown on his face when he backtracks to process John’s words.

“Happy?”

John half-shrugs, perfectly aware that he’s on a roll. “Yeah. Since we’re going _home_ and all that.”

The squint he gets tells John that he’s close to losing it, and Rodney’s picking up on the hysteria pouring out of him like cheap perfume. Wistfully, he wishes he just took Radek up on his offer to get wasted on Lantean moonshine.

“I guess?” Rodney says, sharp eyes in contrast to his careful tone. “Aren’t you, after everything the Institute Of Asshats had us go through?”

Any other day, John would’ve laughed. Their newest nickname for the powers that be was coined by Lorne, and Rodney had sworn up and down that it’s ‘not even in the same zip code as funny’ until he caught himself using it during one of his infamous Monday Meltdowns with the scientists.

But the obliviousness, the sheer the lack of _clue_ , seeps out of Rodney’s words, and John’s fingers do start twitching. He knows he’s just a breath away from reaching out, though whether to touch or throw a punch, John’s not sure. To avoid either disaster, he makes a grab for the bottle in Rodney’s loose grip, claiming the Molson for himself.

"Hey!"

Above Rodney’s squawk of outrage, he finishes the rest of the beer.

“I mean,” John’s starts, sure that the lining in his esophagus is never gonna grow back as he forces himself to swallow a mouthful, using the back of his hand to wipe his treacherous mouth, “a couple of days ago, you weren’t even sure you were coming with us.”

The protests die as Rodney stills, his eyes frozen and unseeing before he starts blinking in surprise. John watches the way Rodney’s lashes flutter, momentarily transfixed despite himself.

“You— you knew about that?”

The bitter taste in John’s mouth sharpens, but he manages a snort.

“You really think I wouldn’t notice if your contract was still pending?”

It’s ironic, really, that for someone who considers himself the most important member of the expedition, Rodney really believed that his missing documents would go unacknowledged. John would take offense, if he isn’t already so accustomed to the inner workings of the man. If he doesn’t know Rodney the way he does, he would have been able to just sweep the whole thing under a rug.

Rodney continues to squirm and stutter, and when his shame at having been caught eventually turns into indignation, he squares his shoulders and huffs.

“Well what does it matter? I’m here, aren’t I?”

It’s true, and really, John owes it to Rodney, to the both of them, to drop it.

But he still remembers the first time he realized that Rodney’s contract is not among the papers Woolsey asked him to review. He remembers hearing about the news of Jennifer’s reassignment and the subsequent trip to Wisconsin.

And he remembers the freefall that came when Teyla told him about the break up, followed by Radek’s thinly-veiled expression of relief at not having to take up the mantle of Chief Science Officer after all.

In less than two weeks, John has crumbled and rebuilt himself according to the whim of one man, who appears to not have the slightest idea of his sheer _power_ over John, so he thinks it’s high time to give himself a little leeway and be unhinged.

Before John can say another damnable word, he hears Rodney sigh.

“I really thought I could do it, you know?”

Rodney’s hands grip the railing, his knuckles white and trembling. When John looks up to watch the man’s face, he finds it more than a little ashen.

“We had a good thing. She was good for me. Surely only a truly bumbling, insipid fool can fail to make it work.”

Then Rodney keeps talking, willingly exposing himself before John in a way that neither of them has ever gone through before. John knows that the man talks, and complains, and whines all the time, but for Rodney McKay to lay all his cards on the table, it usually takes more than just a few bottles of beer and his best friend’s petty barbs.

John wants to put a stop to it, never mind that it’s what he’s been gunning for all along. There’s a certain kind of exquisite pain in watching Rodney so open and vulnerable, but he fears that at the end of all this, John will still end up feeling like he’s the one who's flayed himself open.

“It’s everything I’ve ever wanted, right? I mean, minus the Nobel and the tears of regret from one Samantha Carter, it would’ve been the perfect life. All I had to do was say yes.”

Rodney throws a mirthless smirk over his shoulder, and John scrambles, barely catching it before Rodney disappears in his confessions again.

“But the more I tried to imagine myself in it, the harder it got for me to give an answer. I even started having panic attacks, can you believe that? It took a while before I believed Jennifer when she told me that I was not, in fact, experiencing heart failure.”

It’s only when Rodney lets go of the railings that John realizes his own death grip on his bottle.

“She realized it first, of course. Made it all easy for me.”

When Rodney comes back to himself, John can see the proverbial weight off his shoulders. When he smiles at John, it’s like they’re sharing a secret, something delicate and precious.

“This is it for me, John.” Rodney shrugs, fingers of one hand dancing as they wave around, encompassing everything around them. “Atlantis. The team. My lab. Turns out it’s all I want. The 2.5 children and white picket fence never really stood a chance.”

He chuckles, a little self-conscious and more than a little vulnerable, and John is done.

Just like that, the part of John’s mind that is always loud, and pulsing, and leashed, goes quiet. Between one heartbeat and another, two galaxies narrow down into a single point: the tenderness in Rodney’s shy, smile.

Of their own volition, John’s hands move.

He has enough sense to tuck the beer bottle in a space on the railing where it won’t fall, but other than that, there’s nothing but white noise. 

His fingers don’t even tremble as John reaches out, one hand finding purchase in Rodney’s arm and the other sweeping the other man’s jaw. As he steps closer, pressing their mouths together, the rest of San Francisco melts away.

The kiss starts off feather light, the connection sending the faintest of sensations all over John’s skin. When Rodney breathes in, lips opening in surprise and producing a tantalizing wet gasp, a switch flips in John’s mind and he moves even closer. Suddenly the kiss is searing, and everywhere they touch John feels something burn, like a brand.

In the end, it’s Rodney who pulls away, which is a good thing because John may never have been able to.

He keeps his eyes closed when they part, his first gasp of empty air like breaking the surface, and when John feels hands on his shoulders, it’s enough to tide him back to the shore.

When he finally opens his eyes, he finds that one of his hands is still on Rodney’s cheek, the thumb tracing the shape of the other man’s lower lip.

“Hey.”

It’s the soft sound that brings it all back into sharp focus.

All at once, everything returns to John: his control, his good sense, and the fears that has kept him from doing exactly what he just did. In front of him, Rodney blinks, his mouth hanging open and looking just as ravished as John feels.

“John?”

There’s lightning in John’s every nerve as he scrambles to get away, successfully knocking the bottle off the railing and sending it crashing against the floor. If he isn’t already half out of his mind, he may have found something meaningful and symbolic in the broken shards of glass, now lying on the space between them.

“John, wait— Just let me, _Sheppard_ , wait—”

Before Rodney can reach him, before John slips again and lets him, he takes off.

Against the roaring in his ears and the heaviness his gut, John runs.

“Sheppard, wait!”

Rodney owns him completely now, body and soul.


End file.
